What Really Happened at the Black Gates of Mordor (and other stories)
by TheChocolateCake
Summary: Eomer does some awesome stuff like defeating the dark lord Sauron. He is apparently having more adventures now, like trying to kill his sibling cos she's... being a sibling. this fic is actually mildly amusing so I'm told.
1. Chapter 1

_Pitter, patter, pitter, patter, plop, patter_

The prince of Rohan sat glumly inside his one-man-half-a-person tent. Honestly, it wasn't much different in there than outside in the drizzle. Rohirrim women were killers at the horse shows, but ask them to Scotch-Guard a simple tent...!

He could have done it. He totally could have grabbed that can and read the instructions. But he was too busy binge-watching season three of _Sherlock_ with Theodred. And you couldn't pay proper attention to solving the mysteries before Sherlock did if you were trying to spray a tent too. But was watching television then worth having a leaky tent now? Theodred would have said yes. If he was there, camped out on the front porch of Mordor in the rain, he would sit inside his own little Scotch-Guarded tent and laugh at Eomer. Theodred always made sure his tent was so water-tight he could float down the Anduin in it. But he wasn't there. And why? Because Theodred couldn't just sit around the campfire and eat dinner. They were supposed to be keeping an eye on some orcs at the time and had just made their encampment for the night in a nice little hollow where the wind didn't get to them. Sure it was a little muddy, but it was better than going out and facing a couple squadrons of orcs. Theodred's last words still rang in Eomer's head: "Hey, Eomer! Hold my horse and _watch this!_ " And Eomer was dumb enough to grab the horse instead of the cousin.

Eh, the (technically cousin of the) prince of Rohan thought; they said Theodred would make a full recovery in a few months. Just some deathlike symptoms. Natural consequence from being _mauled by orcs in the middle of the night_.

Eomer snorted, then sneezed, then cursed the rainwater dripping into his eyes through the green fabric.

 **Ka-klang! Ka-klang! Ka-ka-KLANGGG!**

Rubbing his head from where it hit the tree branch, Eomer picked himself up, disentangled himself from his tent, and walked slowly to calm his mild heart attack. Dinner bell. Of course he would have to set up his own three foot tall tent right smack under a low branch so that any time he sat up, he would get a concussion. _Genius_ planning there.

Reaching Aragorn's tent (which was one of those nice roomy ones that you could stand up in and had the little flaps to pull out and make rooms with), he entered and plunked down on one of the camp chairs around a camp table. Eomer's own camp chairs were whatever half-rotten logs he could pull out of the swamp; camp chairs were expensive Rohan had been faced with providing its troops with food or camp chairs. As usual, food won. Eomer folded his arms and looked around sourly at the officers of Gondor and at Aragorn (without his Strider hairdo; he'd actually brushed it!). Rich Gondorian pigs.

One of Aragorn's servants (yes, King of Gondor had brought those on a suicide mission to the Black Gates) brought out the first course of the meal: lasagna souffle with buttered asparagus. The man made some lengthy apologies: there was no appetizer because they were on the trail and had to rough it—it was also only a two course meal and there would be very little for dessert, but he had some wine of excellent vintage, _monsieur_. In silence, the group dug in—or Eomer did at least. The others had to take time to put their napkins under their chins and stick their little fingers out. _And this is why the Elves prefer Gondor_ , Eomer thought, shoving a dozen pieces of asparagus into his mouth in hopes of having to obey the "no talking when your mouth is full" rule. Aragorn looked like he was about to ask a question.

"So, Eomer," the king said, timing it neatly (and to the other's dismay) between one forkful of lasagna and the next, "when we reach the Black Gates, what do you think should be our first course of action. We want to minimize casualties, naturally. I'm interested in your thoughts on the matter."

Eomer paused, his chewing slowed to a crawl. Was this guy an idiot? They were marching on Mordor—home of Sauron, the super-powerful Maia who trained for millennia under Morgoth/Melkor/the biggest bad guy the world had ever known, and Sauron's thousands (probably more like millions since nobody ever took the time to tally them up) of orcs and other more deadly creatures—with all the mustered forces of Gondor and Rohan which had been pretty weak _before_ the Pelenor Fields and were now not only depleted but tired as well. There was no way they were going to walk out of there with less than 100% casualties. This was a suicide mission, not a war. Now what was this long haired weirdo thinking?

Eomer swallowed and said, "Uh... we could try a couple of strafing runs and some targeted divebombing? And if we really wanted to give it to Sauron, we could give some tactical nukes a go."

The rest of the dinner conversation was spent ignoring the only Rohirrim in the room.

Finally, Eomer trudged beck to his tent in the dark. It had stopped raining but the effect was simulated every time a gust of wind came down, shaking the droplets off the trees and onto him. The entire mission was stupid and pointless.

In the end, the only conclusion that the Gondorians (carefully avoiding any input the Rohirrim leader might have had) had come to was this: to ride up to the Black Gates and challenge Sauron to a fight to give a couple of hobbits that nobody was sure were even still alive after the last time Faramir saw them time to stroll over to a volcano and drop a ring in to end all evil in Middle Earth or something. This was assuming that throwing the Ring in would somehow magically make Sauron blow up or collapse into the ground; even Elrond had only been speculating. Result that nobody bothered to mention: Sauron's forces would come out full swing and wipe everybody and his horse to kingdom come. So what made this the best course of action?

Because, Eomer thought, people are stupid. The Gondorians probably never read _The Art of War_. He knew there were copies translated into Rohirrim, but he'd never seen one in any of the languages Gondor typically used. If any of them had read it, they might have recalled some words of wisdom from between its pages. Like Rule no. 1: Don't be a retard.

He crawled into his tent and collapsed into his blankets. These Gondorian bigwigs were going to get everybody killed on spec. And Eomer had heard that the Halls of Mandos had a terrible internet connection that made streaming movies virtually impossible.

 _Nope, not dying until season four of "Sherlock" comes out on Netflix. No matter what it takes, even if I have to fight Sauron armed with nothing but a toothpick..._

The Mouth of Sauron fixed the captains of the free world with a sincere stink eye and patted his creepy horse. Somehow, there was smoke coming out of places it shouldn't have on that horse. It also looked very mean.

"So," Eomer began, hoping to clarify that the hobbits were actually _dead_ dead and not going-to-be-dead-we're-just-celebrating-prematurely-like-true-bad-guys. Of course, attention-hog Aragorn cut him off.

"Give us that!" he demanded, pointing at the mithril jacket that sparkled in the sunshine. It should be raining, Eomer thought. You're not supposed to go into dramatic death-rushed on nice days. It rained on all the other big battles, but the sun had decided to come out and the birds were hopping about like it was just another pleasant day for the forest animals living a stone's throw from Mordor. A bee buzzed by his head. Then it came back and settled into orbit around his helm. Then its friend came over and started nosing around his blond hair. Suddenly, as three or four honeybees started crawling around on his hair, he realized his mistake in stealing his sister's rose-scented shampoo. At the time, he'd been thinking of how if he was going to die, he wanted clean hair. He'd used the last of his manly scents up before the battle of the Pelenor Fields, but with his sister in the hospital (or House of Healing as they called it in Gondor; they always had to add six or seven syllables on to _everything_ ), it wasn't like she could say anything about it. Plus she was all drooly over Faramir now. After pushing him off the balcony of the Golden Hall fifteen years ago when Denethor and crew came to Rohan for a visit. She thought he was a real wimp then. Scrawny buzzard was what she called him. Now that he was interested in her (and she'd found out about Aragorn's elf princess girlfriend), of course... Eomer snorted and almost fell off his horse when one of the bees buzzed in his ear.

The Mouth of Sauron was trotting back through the Black Gates and it looked like Aragorn had got his way with the Mithril jacket. A lot of good it would do him. Ten sizes too small for a man and the hobbit it belonged to would probably never see it again. If he wasn't already, the hobbit would be dead soon. Just like everybody else here. And Eomer himself would be buried with rose-scented hair. Without ever seeing season four of _Sherlock_...

"Oi! Oi!" He spurred Firefoot forward after Sauron's messenger. "Mouth!"

The Mouth of Sauron turned and signaled to the trolls to leave the gates where they were; there was about a yard left before the gates shut completely.

"What?" the Mouth asked, turning his stink eye on the captain.

"Tell Sauron I'm challenging him to one-on-one combat. Instead of having our armies fight this out, we can both save assets. Him and me. Out here. Just us two. Tell him that."

The Mouth of Sauron snorted and put a hand in front of his mouth, partially covering his pointed yellow teeth. Somebody obviously didn't believe in dental hygiene on Sauron's side.

"Right," he said, turning his horse around again and waving the trolls to continue with the gates, "Will do."

"Are you crazy?" Aragorn stared at his ally as he trotted his horse back to the group of leaders in front of the army.

"Look who's doing the asking," Eomer retorted, pulling his cell phone out. One had to do what one had to do in these kind of situations. He waved the others silent as he held the device to his ear.

"Yes, can I have Manwe, please?"

Ten minutes later, the towering figure of Sauron emerged from the Black Gates. Judging from the mace in one hand and the sword in the other, he was prepared for battle.

Eomer dismounted, leaving his horse with Gandalf, and walked forward. Sandwiched between two armies, ten feet shorter than his opponent, and armed with nothing but a mobile phone, Eomer's odds didn't look good to Aragorn and co.

"Be careful!" he shouted to the Rohirrim.

Eomer approached to ten feet of Sauron and took a minute-long look at him.

Sauron said nothing for a long while until impatience finally got the better of his desire to be cool and he said, "Well?"

"Well what?" the man replied.

"Are you going to beg for your life or die?"

"You don't have to say that, you know. There's more than enough incriminating evidence on you by now. Including video footage that can land you lifetime imprisonment."

"What are you getting at? You can't imprison me. There's no prison in Middle-Earth that can hold me!"

"What about Valinor?"

Sauron was silent.

"I've phoned Manwe and his crew is on their way here. Now, I wasn't very clear on what was the matter over the phone, but they have the impression that you're up to something. Pretty soon, the Valar will come rolling in here like oranges to shut you and your little volcano down for good. I think there will be a few counts of terrorist activities and illegal weapons distribution, as well as multiple violations of workers' rights. I'll warrant you haven't been paying property taxes on Mordor, either. Now, you're threatening me with deadly force..."

Sauron was shaking in his spiky metal boots. Everyone could see that. He knew perfectly well that his terrorist activities might be let slide, and he might even get out of the illegal weapons distribution, but there was no way he could explain away the dangerous working conditions, wages below the minimum, and lack of healthcare for the orcs and such. They would probably also nick him for animal abuse with the wargs.

"No," he began; but Eomer was still speaking.

"Now, maybe if this is all a mistake... I mean, maybe you're just running a home for orphans. Orphaned orc children, elf, human, hobbit, dwarf... I mean, don't be racist. Ooh, that's another thing they might get after you for. Looks like you have a _massive_ number of orcs in your employ, but almost nobody else. Hmm."

Sauron made another protest, but again Eomer cut him off.

"I think it should be about another ten minutes before they get here. Just enough time to put a sign up, eh? Maybe something like "The Mordor Home for Orphaned Orc, Elf, Dwarf, Hobbit, and Human Children." You should put it up on the gates so it's visible."

Sauron checked his watch and turned to his lieutenants.

"Nice place, Sauron," Aule nodded, surveying the orcs in aprons bustling little orclings around. "I'm glad you took a hint from Melkor and didn't become a mini-Morgoth or something. Orphan's home. Good business. Glad you're into it."

Sauron shook his head up and down silently.

"Well, we're going to take care of those trolls for you. Public indecency! I guess with trolls you can expect it, but still. I can't see how people think that wandering around in a loincloth is appropriate – and the female trolls, too! People these days... Alright then, I'll be seeing you around man. Have to get back before dinner or the wife will throw the frying pan at me again. I need to start making her softer pans. Good seeing you."

Finally, Eomer collapsed into his bed in Edoras. It had been an exhausting trip. And of course he couldn't come straight home. No, first he had to attend Aragorn's stupid wedding (during which Elrond had completely failed to apologize to Frodo and Sam for sending them off with poor information). Then he had a fight with his sister over whether she was going to stay in Gondor with Faramir or come back to Rohan. She had opted to stay with Faramir, but Eomer had insisted that she live in Minas Tirith in her own apartment and have a chaperon if she went out anywhere with Faramir – he promised that he would personally return and cart her back off to Rohan if he heard any rumors about them staying over at one anothers' houses for more than ten minutes at a time – especially if it was night. But finally, he was able to get back to Edoras and his recovering cousin. Theodred would do nothing but sit up in bed, drink soup, and make snide comments. Eomer had only thrown three books at the ill prince.

Three months later, co-king of Rohan Eomer was proud that Sauron had not gone back to his evil ways. The Mordor Home for Orphaned Orc, Elf, Dwarf, Hobbit, and Human Children was prospering and Mount Doom was blockaded off in accordance with child safety laws. Shelob had turned to making colorful quilts for the multitude of kids; this seemed to bring out her motherly side and she would frequently tell groups of them stories from the early days of Middle-Earth when her siblings terrorized kingdoms and slaughtered heroes. They ate it up. The trolls had all been issued trench coats and were in the business of picking the burned potato chips out in the Moria Potato Chip factory. The hobbits had all gone home and were engaged in the music industry; screamo and heavy metal, mostly. Overall, peace had descended on Middle-Earth.

Until Aragorn (who had discovered a huge amount of respect for the younger of the co-kings of Rohan after his showdown with the Dark Lord) called.

"Eomer," he sounded breathless as if he'd just finished his daily route of all the staircases in Minas Tirith, "You've got to help!"

Eomer heaved a martyred sigh and sent a silent prayer off that it wasn't just another problem with Arwen complaining about not having a "real" palace to live in.

"Ye-"

Aragorn cut him off. "There is a large gray battle tank sitting on the Pelenor fields." His voice had sunk to a whisper. Then, "MY GOD! IT TURNED INTO A THIRTY FOOT TALL ROBOT AND IT HAS WHAT LOOKS TO BE A VERY LARGE WEAPON!"

Eomer held the phone away from his ear.

"Hang on, I'll be right over. Just sit tight. I can handle this." He hung up and called out the window, "Optimus, Megatron just appeared in Gondor and he's scaring Aragorn again."

As he buckled his seat-belt, Eomer reflected that if he hadn't nipped Aragorn's suicide mission in the bud, he wouldn't be in the position of having to be Superman to the king of Gondor's Damsel in Distress. Maybe he should have let Aragorn go ahead. Maybe they would have lived after all. Maybe Elrond's information hadn't been faulty. Maybe... would Sauron really have just blown up if Frodo had dropped the Ring in the volcano?

But now he would never know.

* * *

*kaff kaff*

Yes, this is just some weirdness. No, it's not really supposed to make a whole lot of sense. Everything I do seems to be merely on one level of nonsensibility or another, I suppose. I didn't even do much editing...

And Asfaloth, if you have the misfortune to read this, I'm sorry. I don't think it came out as awesome as you were hoping XD Just a whole bunch weirder. And Eomer didn't actually fight with the toothpick. And I forgot to mention anything about the Palmer House. But he did change his ways...!

To reiterate: this is NOT a literary masterpiece, nor is it meant to be.

I'm also pretty sure I've made some spelling errors I failed to correct cos I couldn't be bothered to look up all the spellings and spellcheck wasn't a help. Per usual.

Yep, so continue on with your life!


	2. Chapter 2

"Ooh, Eomer, I killed the Witch King of Angmar," The falsetto, mocking tone faded into a snort of disdain and the blonder co-king of Rohan flounced into an armchair.

The somewhat less blond co-king eyeballed his cousin over the rim of his soup bowl; he slurped a noodle but said nothing to the other, dramatically slouched in his seat. Theodred deliberated, poured the last drop of broth into his mouth, pulled the sheets up a little higher and slid under them a little lower. But not a single word to the cousin.

Annoyed, Eomer sat up and pressed the matter: "She thinks that since she had _half_ a share in killing some agent of Sauron – who was already dead, I'll have you know! - that she's somehow 'better' than me. The superior horseman, the superior swordsman, the superior _sneezer_! She is _so_ full of herself. 'Oh, _Eomer_ , I handled the Witch king just fine, I think I can handle one little Gondorian soldier.' That's what she said to me! Word for – well, almost. Paraphrased, but that was what she meant! She can't get past it. Even the little... whatshisface, the guy who doesn't wear shoes, who also killed Witch King – even _he's_ secure in his personality without flaunting that miniscule achievement around like a peacock. I'm beginning to think my sister has a massive inferiority complex. Like... she can't go a single conversation without mentioning it, I think. Imagine her at the grocery store, thanking the bagboy – 'Have a nice day, ma'am,' 'Thank you, you too. Did you know I killed the Witch King of Angmar?' Or on a date with that creep Faramir, 'Eowyn, you have the most beautiful eyes.' 'These eyes stared the Witch King of the Nasgul down before delivering the killing blow.' Or talking to me! 'Hi, Eowyn, how's it -' 'Hey, how many Witch Kings have you killed lately Eomer? Oh... that's right...'

Gah! I hate her so much. I should have poisoned her baby formula when she was a kid. Or hobbled her and thrown her in the dungeons.

...

... I hate her so much...

...

...

Hey, Theodred. Hey. Hey.

...

...

...

Since I'm king, I can declare anyone I want to be an enemy of the state and have them killed. Right? Cos that's how it works in a monarchy. You do what you want to cos you're king? And that includes _whatever_?

...

...

...

Can I declare my sister an enemy of the state and hire assassins to take her down?

...

Theodred?

...

Ugh. Yeah, I guess you're right. I'm just letting that annoying little gnat get under my skin. I'm so sick of her shit, though. She's _always_ pulled this, this one-upping everyone. This nonstop _nagging_. She's always been like this and you know it drives me crazy. She can't let something just... go.

But you know what? I can. I'll do what they always say to do in the samurai movies – 'let the emotions wash around you, like a river about a stone.' Except they don't take erosion into account, do they?

In any case, I'm going to let it slide. I'm not gonna let it bother me. She killed the most evil and powerful henchmen of the third-greatest evil to befall Middle Earth. But you know what? It's fine. I'm secure in my personality. I'm going to get past it.

...

Thanks man. Thanks for the talk."

The soft breathing from the lump of bedsheets and pillows betrayed the injured co-king to his healthier cousin. The latter took no notice of his nonresponsive state and left the room. In the doorway, he paused, feeling slight vibration on his pocket. Checking the text messages, he skimmed along to the last one on the conversation:

"Eomer, if u want to play on Xbox Live with me, my user is WitchKingKillr. We should play Portal 2 or something. r u still coming to my birthday party? Imrahil is having it at his place. Hear he has a hot daughter. There will be a Naguzl cake so u can pretend u took him down with ur teeth."

Everrybody in Edoras heard the scream of "Print up those wanted signs" and "Get my horse." Everybody but the sleeping co-king.

* * *

So I decided on another chapter after watching the last movie for the quintilianth time. Yep, this sucks slightly more than the first one, but it was written in the same spirit. High on caffeine and at one AM. Yay! Didn't edit worth a peanut and if there are any words with copies of the last letter in the English alphabet missing, it's cos the key for it on my laptop stopped working. Which kinda sucks.

So I also watched Thor: Ragnarok. And when Karl Urban showed up, i was like HOLY CRAP THAT'S FREAKING EOMER MAN!

Really hyped. It was awesome. Not the movie, the Eomer part. XD


End file.
